I love churches. I love church buildings. I love to be in the house of the Lord when his people gather to worship him.

We come from different backgrounds and situations, but at least one time per week, we come with a single, sole purpose – to see the Lord, to love him, to sing to him, to hear from him, to be loved on by him. We were hardwired at our creation to glorify and commune with him.

The church building is the location where this happens weekly. Yes, we can come to see him with others by the side of a river, or in a harvested field, or on the shore of a lake. Jesus ministered in these places.

Revivals of old were held in such locations when there were so many people seeking the Lord that no building could hold them. The Whitefield and Wesley revivals in the U.S. come to mind.

Once full, now less so

Revivals, movements of God, have often caused people to come together and build these buildings to have a place to seek the Lord out of the elements.

Fine architects were hired for some. For others, farmers came together and raised a building like they would raise a barn or their homes as a community. Some were erected in a matter of weeks, where other sanctuaries like those in Europe took over 100 years to build. Some are ornate. Some are simple.

What grieves me is that a few buildings are full, but most are empty. My trips to Europe have shown this—a church drain if you will.

When you visit some of these historic cities, no doubt you will see glorious, spectacular edifices, churches of old. People make a point to tour them, to walk through them slowly looking at the grandeur all around. Brochures are given with the history of the building, when and how it was constructed, how long each took, the man-hours detailed along with the expense.

But visit these hallowed places on a Sunday morning. What do you see? A janitor pushing a broom. In churches that once hosted thousands for worship, now maybe five or 10 people come.

Imagine Reliant Stadium in Houston where the Texans play. Thousands come to cheer for their team. Imagine years from now, football as only a memory.

In places that once held 60,000 to 80,000 people, finding on game day, 10 or 12 people milling around, taking note of the artificial grass where young, rich men once played, the vendor stalls where food was purchased, shops where game-day jerseys were sold. Can you imagine it?

Go to the Coliseum in Rome where thousands gathered for entertainment and much worse. What is that place today? A tourist attraction where people go to say they have been there, visitors who try to imagine what the venue was like when in full-throttled activity. Now silent.

The building shows the need

In my weekly drive from Houston to my farm I see a lot of church buildings. Passing by the Heights, I see a church building that no longer holds worship but has been retrofitted into a wedding venue.

Going by Jersey Village, I see an old church building which now serves as the suburb’s city hall. The steeple was removed because people were offended by it. Passing through Tomball, I see an old church which is now used as an event center.

When I get near Hearne, an old church building is now a residence for a family. Between Hearne and Calvert, you will see a barn that was once a church.

Near Marlin, there is a church rotting to the ground—windows busted, front door off the hinges. I try to peer inside as I pass, nothing but darkness.

My wife visited our youngest daughter in North Carolina a few weeks ago. A restaurant moved two abandoned church buildings together—the larger one is the restaurant portion of the establishment and the smaller one is the bar. A woman was heard to say, as she entered the bar, which was once a church, “This is my kind of sanctuary.”

So, what should we do? Revitalize these old buildings? Claim them back for an unseen, disinterested congregation?

This article is not about buildings. It is about how we have left the Lord, so we no longer need places to come together to honor him. This is about the need for a radical, national revival.

The fate of a nation rests on it, as well as the eternity of millions. “Lord, please send a Great Awakening. We humbly pray, seeking your forgiveness.” 

Johnny Teague is the senior pastor of Church at the Cross in West Houston and the author of several books, including his newest The Lost Diary of Mary Magdalene. His website is johnnyteague.com. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

In a recent article I celebrated the magnificence of the pastoral life, and that is the prevailing sentiment of my life as a pastor.

But within the magnificence of this life is a pastoral burden carried by all pastors and their families. More pastors need to acknowledge this burden and all church members need to know about this shadow-side of ministry. So, I will attempt to give a quick glimpse here.

It’s always been hard

On a vacation to escape a particularly hard season of ministry, our family stopped at the battlefield where the Battle of Vicksburg had been fought.  I searched for the spot where my great-grandfather stood with the boys from his church during that horrific siege.

I understand that this subsistence farmer and Baptist preacher had walked with the boys from his church near Sikes, La., through Columbia and up the road to Vicksburg—around 125 miles. Anecdotal evidence indicates that many of the preachers were armed and lined up beside their boys that made up the Confederate defense against the Union forces led by General Ulysses S. Grant.

As I stood where my forbear stood on that battlefield, I remember thinking that his pastoral assignment was much more challenging than mine, but that the pastoral life has always been hard in some weeks, months, and even years.

I have never gone with the children of my churches when we sent them off to war. But I have experienced conflict in a church and will always carry with me the memories and emotional impact. Interpersonal conflict is one thing, but the conflict that can emerge and even erupt within a human system such as a church family is only one of the huge challenges a pastor faces.

A relentless rhythm

If there is one factor that drives more pastors from the pastoral life than conflict, it is the sheer relentlessness of the pastoral burden.

My moment of awareness came when a caring church member told me the pastoral pace and pressures looked relentless to him. I countered that he and others worked very hard and that all committed persons walked an arduous path.

He countered with this observation: “Pastor, you will notice that my family and I are gone one to two weekends a month several months a year, and I see you working 50 weeks and 50 weekends a year.”

The pastoral life is relentless for most pastors.  Now I know that some pastors are lazy and some find a rhythm that allows for many retreats and months on autopilot. But those pastors are in a small minority.  Most pastors experience a relentlessness of pastoral responsibility that wears down the strongest of us.

Many challenges

So, is that all? If I were designing a “scared straight” boot camp for young pastors I would address, among many topics, the conflict, the systemic tumult, the pull in so many directions, the stress on the family, the expertise required in several areas, the rebound from mistakes and misfires resulting from bad ideas, and on … and on.

If I were to go to the full extent of unpacking all dimensions of this sometimes-embattled calling, I would lead seminars I have designed and led on systemic pathologies and even evil plots that have unfolded among unsuspecting disciples. But that would be appropriate only for those who want to actually understand and do something about such situations.

A good and insightful friend of mine is soon to publish a much-needed book in which he deals with the unrealistic expectations of pastors. I needed that book when I started.  In my research on the pastoral life and talking with many pastors I have heard and seen the long-term effect of the pastoral burden and there are too many factors to mention briefly in this space.

The deaths

I will address one more area that wears as much on seasoned pastors as any factor I know. The deaths.

One of the pastors I most respect told me what keeps him up at night is “the cumulative effect of shared grief.”  Most seasoned pastors are under the burden of burying too many people they love deeply.

They live with compounded grief. They bury their dead but hold them in their hearts and vivid images are retained in the pastor’s memory like video running on an endless loop through their minds.

Pastoral orientation in the Bible

So, do pastors know what they are getting into? Do church members understand what they are doing in asking a pastor to bring a family and dive into their predicament?

I mentioned that the pastoral life has always been hard and any careful reader of scripture has observed the burden carried by such leaders of God’s peoples as Moses, Joshua, David, several of the prophets of ancient Israel and the Apostle Paul.

I will leave Job and our Lord Jesus for their own special consideration. The mantle that has fallen on the shepherds of God’s people sets the pastor on an arduous journey.

All young pastors would learn much by reading and reflecting on Jeremiah’s complaints, words I suspect took the lament movement in ancient Israel to another level ((Jeremiah 11:18 –12:6; 15:10-21; 17:14-18; 18:18-23; 20: 7-13; 20: 14 –18).

But the best primer on accepting the challenge of the pastoral journey is probably the entirety of Paul’s second letter to Timothy (see 2 Timothy 1: 8-10 and 11-12; 2:1-3, 8-10; 3: 10-12 and 4:5-6).

So why do it?  Why take up the mantel of the pastoral call?  Why join the Apostle Paul in “suffering for the gospel” ( 2 Timothy 1:8, NIV)?  And why stay with it?

Those are great questions we’ll discuss in the future.

Ron Cook is retired from the faculty of Truett Theological Seminary at Baylor University. He also served as pastor and interim pastor in several churches. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

As I’ve read the back-and-forth about Baylor University turning down a grant from the Baugh Foundation regarding a study that desired to nudge churches to “courageously” embrace those who see LGBTQIA+ as a biblically allowable lifestyle, I have been mostly encouraged— encouraged about what the Baptist General Convention of Texas (BGCT) continues to stand for in our present culture.

All of our BGCT-affiliated and related universities state in their beliefs and policies that marriage and sexual intimacy are designed solely for the covenant marriage relationship of a man and a woman. The BGCT (Texas Baptists) itself considers any sexual relationship outside of this definition, including same-sex relationships and adultery, to be outside of God’s intended, biblical design. This stance is based on Scripture’s interpretation and application and has been affirmed through many resolutions and motions passed at the conventions and BGCT Executive Board meetings over several decades.

Looking at our goal

Back in 2016, a high estimation of Scripture was awakened in many pastors and leaders in the BGCT, and it caused a movement that desired to honor biblical sexual ethics no matter the culture’s redefining of them and the ever-growing acceptance of alternative lifestyles including LGBTQIA+.

David Currie’s opinion piece in the Baptist Standard Voices: Sad for Texas Baptists was well written by a good man with deep convictions. However, I submit that he missed a very obvious point, namely, that both sides of this particular argument say, “I’m right, you’re wrong. and if you don’t agree with me, you don’t believe the Bible.” And if conservatives and progressives are saying that same sentence regarding opposing views on sexual ethics and biblically permissible lifestyles, we have reached an impasse in cooperation.

But cooperation isn’t the highest goal. Fidelity to God’s word is! Freedom of personal conviction isn’t the noblest virtue. Adherence to God’s standard is! Historic Baptist principles cause us to cling tightly to God’s best, God’s order and God’s word, even with a swelling tide that says those are archaic, non-inclusive, and too small a tent.

An inward look at beliefs

You can add biblical sexual ethics to the list of blood atonement to satisfy God’s wrath, the flawless nature of God’s word, a literal hell, salvation through Christ’s cross alone and abortion that cause a no-man’s-land between conservatives and progressives. Both sides can and certainly should be kind to one another, love one another, pray for one another, and converse with one another. However, the six dividers above are not reconciliatory topics.

Currie proverbially shoots himself in the foot when he himself writes in his op-ed that the Baptist tent is not big enough for those leading in the Southern Baptist Convention, for those who believe a homosexual-affirming church is not in lock-step with the BGCT, for those who convictionally are complementarian in church leadership, and for those who believe sexual activity outside of a man and woman marriage is sin. I just described, I believe, the majority of Texas Baptists who hold several of those positions … and Currie just moved us out of his tent!

I applaud the BGCT in the conserving of their beliefs regarding biblical sexual ethics, and I applaud Baylor and President Linda Livingstone for making a difficult but good decision.

Certainty about sin is only error if wrong, but it’s biblical conviction if grounded in truth.

John Durham is the senior pastor of Highland Baptist Church, Waco, Texas. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

As I’ve read the back-and-forth about Baylor University turning down a grant from the Baugh Foundation regarding a study that involved the LGBTQ+ community, I have been mostly sad – sad about what the Baptist General Convention of Texas (BGCT) could have been.

The BGCT had an opportunity to be fully and truly Baptist, but fear robbed the convention of that opportunity.

It appears to me that most people, even some of our own board members, did not understand what Texas Baptists Committed was about: creating a convention that was truly Baptist – a big tent where fundamentalists, moderates, and even liberals could still cooperate in the mission of Christ.

Many thought TBC was about promoting moderate theology over fundamentalist theology. That was never true.

TBC was about defending Baptist principles and educating Baptists about them: “Four Fragile Freedoms,” as Buddy Shurden named them:

• The authority of scripture without creeds
• The priesthood of all believers
• Local church autonomy
• Religious liberty and the separation of church and state

This was the beginning and end of our mission—to keep Baptists Baptist. There was never a specific theological agenda. We did, however, have an agenda of preventing fundamentalists from controlling the convention or its committees because we knew they would shut everyone else out.

The BGCT never did that. During my 22 years as executive director of TBC, any committee I was involved in naming always included Baptists of all theological persuasions. We tried to be a big tent but not so big that fundamentalists could control the BGCT as they controlled the Southern Baptist Convention.

However, in 2016 fear gripped some of our pastors and leaders – fear that too much freedom was dangerous. As a result, the convention voted to disenfranchise some churches that had a welcoming and/or affirming view toward LGBTQ+ persons.

Keeping strong convictions and an open mind

Now this fear has claimed, with Baylor its tool, its latest victims: the Baugh Foundation grant and LGBTQ+ people who might have benefited from this study. It didn’t have to be this way. We could have stayed Baptist and kept a big tent.

I know people who consider homosexual behavior sinful and transgender transitions a perversion of God’s creation. They are people of deep convictions. Many are personal friends of mine and former supporters and even board members of TBC.

My purpose is not to argue with them about theology surrounding these matters. My purpose is to defend and promote Baptist principles and show them why the action they took in 2016 and Baylor’s recent action in rejecting the Baugh Foundation grant are violations of these treasured Baptist principles.

Take a look at the following two statements:

• “The New Testament is crystal clear that a woman cannot be a pastor.” – Paige Patterson on the day that he was inaugurated as president of Southwestern Seminary
• “We fully agree that any grant that advocates for perspectives on human sexuality that are counter to biblical sexual ethics should be declined or returned. Right decisions are usually easy; righteous decisions are usually costly.” – Letter signed by pastors in support of Baylor’s rejection of the Baugh Foundation grant

Sadly, both statements reflect the same mentality and biblical view which is “I’m right, you’re wrong and if you don’t agree with me you don’t believe the Bible.”

Most signers of the Baylor letter would not agree at all with Paige Patterson’s statement but sadly practice the same attitude when it comes to what they call “biblical sexual ethics.”

This destroys cooperation. Friends, it doesn’t have to be this way if we honor, respect, and follow historic Baptist principles.

Coming back to collaboration

As I’ve written before, I imagine my great-grandfather Robert Morrison Currie, who founded the First Baptist Church in LaVernia in 1857 after coming to Texas from Mississippi (and was the first moderator of the San Antonio Baptist Association) sincerely believed the New Testament was crystal clear that a white man could own a Black man.

But, as Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 13:12, we all “see through a glass, darkly.” We are all influenced by many factors in our interpretation of scripture. Deeply held convictions are a wonderful thing unless they lead us to dogmatism and the sin of certainty. Then we exclude people who don’t agree with us and cooperation – and Christian fellowship – is destroyed.

Texas Baptists had a chance to be a big tent convention. I hope they will once again create a place for Baptists of all theological views to join and collaborate. After all, that is what the priesthood of all believers and local church autonomy are all about.

Freedom is the heart of being Baptist. Stop being afraid of it!

David R. Currie is the retired executive director of Texas Baptists Committed. He spends most of his time now with his sheep, goats, cattle, and grandkids. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

“Do you have citizenship classes here?” the young woman in the minivan asked. “I heard you do.”

It was early May during my church’s monthly food distribution ministry. The minivan looked like dozens of others that had come through the line I host there. The woman’s small children were riding in car seats in the back.

“As a matter of fact, we do,” I replied, “and I’m the teacher.”

But then I told her I was planning to restart the classes this fall, after the COVID pandemic interrupted us in 2020 and we never got back to it. I said we would have more information later in the summer and I would love for her to come.

“No,” she said. “I need the classes now. Can you help me now?”

As we talked, I learned she is from Venezuela, married, and with three children. Everything is in order. She has her permanent residence permit, known as a Green Card, meaning she is eligible for naturalization. Still, there was a strong sense of urgency to receive her citizenship.

When I told the church administrator about starting tutoring sessions for the young mother, she replied that we have a waiting list of people who have been calling the church recently inquiring about the citizenship classes. I had no idea.

The uptick in the citizenship business should come as no surprise, given a June 27 report in The Dallas Morning Newsciting the U.S. Census Bureau’s recent report that “immigration is driving U.S. population growth.” The News said “a historic rise in immigration, particularly among Hispanics and Asians has counteracted” population declines among other groups, especially whites. The report said Hispanic people accounted for 20% of the total population in 2024, and 26.9% of children. Is it any wonder citizenship classes are in growing demand?

Working toward citizenship

I started one-on-one tutoring for my Venezuelan friend a few weeks ago and she is doing great, answering the 100 civics questions most Americans would admit they don’t have a clue about. I’ve taught citizenship classes through my church for years and the best description I can give to the process is that old line about Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. She did everything he did, only backwards and in heels.

My students learn about American history and government, doing it in a second language while managing communication with their families back home, the stress of building a new life apart from support structures and, sometimes, the threat of deportation if something goes wrong with a judge or an ICE agent. They know the citizenship text will only ask five or six of the possible 100 questions. And they know they must answer orally in front of a person wearing a uniform. Even the most prepared students admit extreme nervousness.

That nervousness extends beyond immigrants seeking citizenship naturalization. The recent aggressive posture leading to deportations, some of them violent, is causing consternation and anxiety among immigrant friends I know who have been naturalized citizens for years. Rumors abound that no one is safe now, not even long-term immigrants who did everything the right way  and gained citizenship. Those rumors and anxiety are quickly turning to fear for many of my friends.

Still, the best remedy is citizenship. While a Green Card provides strong protection for immigrants, nothing beats becoming a citizen.

Learning while helping others

There is an opportunity here, for immigrants and for people in churches and other nonprofits. The growing number of immigrants means a growing number of people looking to complete citizenship naturalization. It’s an opportunity to personally solve at least a small piece of the immigration puzzle and not wait for Congress to do something.

It’s also a good opportunity to remind yourself of some basic civics, history and government facts. How many amendments does the constitution have? What are two (out of three) rights in the Declaration of Independence? What does the president’s cabinet do? Those and 97 more.

Teach a citizenship class. Help with support services so an immigrant can take it. Look for ways to be part of the solution.

Editor’s Note: This article originally ran in The Dallas Morning News and is used by permission. Scott Collins retired as senior vice president at Buckner International. He is currently serving as interim editor of the Baptist Standard and is a member of The Crossing Baptist Church, Mesquite.

If I live to be 100, I will never forget holding the lifeless body of a 4-year-old in my arms.

It was during the second semester of my sophomore year in college. As a student, I worked mostly full-time as an orderly in the emergency room of a hospital.

I normally worked the 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. shift. On this night, I was working the 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. shift when around 2 a.m., a car drove into the portico of the hospital outside the emergency room. When no one came inside, I walked out to see if I could be of assistance.

Family members in the car handed me a child whose body appeared to be lifeless. I carried her into one of the treatment rooms and reached out to the nurse on duty. She asked me to telephone the on-call physician.

The child had ingested rat poisoning earlier in the evening. It was under the cabinet in her grandparents’ home. Sadly, there was nothing that could be done. The child was dead on arrival.

The grandfather asked to use the telephone and called the pastor of his church to come to the hospital.

I overheard the pastor providing counsel to the grieving family. He said simply: “We don’t understand this, but we have to accept that this as God’s will.”

The pain of ‘missing’

During the three years I worked at the hospital, I overheard “this is God’s will” being credited for tragedy after tragedy.

I was 19 when I held the lifeless body of the 4-year-old in my arms and I could not have disagreed more with the pastor. Fifty-nine years later, my posture remains unchanged.

I don’t believe the death of a child from rat poisoning was God’s will. There is a significant difference between God’s perfect will and his permissive will. God is not the author of the horror stories that plague our lives.

My heart has hurt for the families of those who did not survive the Hill Country floods of July 4 and for those families still missing loved ones is familiar to me

My twin brother was missing and unaccounted for 51 years after his plane went down in the Christmas bombing raids over North Vietnam in 1972.

I know first-hand the gut-wrenching kind of pain that “missing” promotes for families. My heart aches for who find themselves dealing with that kind of stress, anxiety and despair.

Recognizing God’s gift

In his book, Tracks of a Fellow Struggler, John Claypool shares his grief experience in the aftermath of his 10-year-old daughter’s death. She was diagnosed with leukemia at age 8. The disease subsequently went into remission, and his family and church thought it was an answer to prayer.

Sadly, the disease came back, and she died at age 10.

Claypool references an incident from his childhood. One of his dad’s employees was drafted into the military during World War II.

With the husband’s deployment, the family was leaving the area but planned to return when the war was over. Claypool’s dad offered for the family to store their furniture and possessions in the basement of his home.

When the truck came to deliver their belongings, Claypool’s dad noticed they had a Bendix washing machine. He asked his employee if he could use it. Gasoline and other amenities were being rationed, and Claypool’s father thought the washing machine would be helpful.

Claypool was a young boy at the time, and he was assigned responsibility for doing the family’s laundry.

Claypool was fascinated by the washer’s agitator and the suds it generated from the laundry detergent. He also experimented with the hand cranked wringer used to squeeze water out of clothes.

Three years later, he came home from school one day, gathered the laundry and made his way to the basement. The basement was empty, and the washing machine was gone. He thought the family had been robbed. He was furious and immediately went to notify his mother.

She explained that his father’s employee had been discharged from the military, and the family had collected their things that afternoon. His mother attempted to calm her son by reminding him how the washing machine came their way. It did not belong to them but was on loan. It was an unexpected gift that had come their way.

His mother explained: If you own something and it is taken from you, anger is an appropriate response. In this case, the family did not own the washing machine. Gratitude for the time it had been available was the only appropriate response.

When Claypool’s daughter died, that conversation with his mother came to mind. He recognized that his daughter had been a gift from God.

A focus on gratitude

Scripture states, “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” (James 1:17)

God is the ultimate source of all blessings, and he is unchanging in his goodness and generosity.

Claypool determined gratitude was the best way to deal with grief. Instead of anger and resentment over loss, he opted to be grateful for the time shared and for the tremendous difference his daughter had made in their lives.

It wasn’t a process that minimized the pain of grief overnight, but in the long haul, gratitude prevailed and he worked his way through the grief experience.

My brother has been on the other side of eternity for more than two-thirds of my life, yet I think of him often. Every thought of him is a trigger for gratitude. He enriched my life immensely.

When I think of him and all that we shared, I frequently hear the voice of Garth Brooks in his song “The Dance.”

“I’m glad I didn’t know – The way it all would end – The way it all would go – Our lives – Are better left to chance – I could have missed the pain – But I’d have had to miss – The dance.”

Don Forrester is executive director of the Coalition of Residential Excellence (CORE).  He previously served with Children At Heart Ministries and as bivocational pastor of Henly Baptist Church.

The Fourth of July flooding in the Texas Hill Country is an ongoing, unimaginable heartbreak. So far, 137 deaths have been reported. At least 27 children and counselors from Camp Mystic, a Christian camp, were among those who died.

It’s hard for us to make sense of tragedies like this. Disasters cause us to seek answers to some of life’s most difficult and perplexing questions.

Where was God when those flood waters rose? Could he not have prevented this from happening?  Why did so many people have to perish?

As Christians, how do we explain this tragedy? Why did it happen? Why did God allow it to happen? If God is all-powerful, doesn’t he have the power to prevent natural disasters like this? If God is all-loving, where was his love for those who perished?

The question of suffering

We love to sing, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world.” That’s a hard lyric to reconcile with little children who die horrific deaths.

We love to sing, “God is so good, he’s so good to me.” If God is so good, where can goodness possibly be found in a catastrophic, deadly flood? It all seems so senseless. How can we make sense of the seemingly senseless?

The tragic consequences of the Texas Hill Country floods compel us to face an age-old question: Why is there evil and suffering in the world?

It’s a question as old as what many scholars believe to be the oldest book in the Bible, Job. Philosophically and theologically speaking, it’s the question known as theodicy.

Theodicy comes from two Greek words, theos-meaning God, and dike- meaning justice or justify. In simple terms, theodicy is the human attempt to explain or justify how or why an all-good, all-powerful, all-loving and all-knowing God could or would allow evil and suffering in the world.

For centuries philosophers and theologians have grappled with the question of evil and suffering, attempting to formulate logical or rational theodicean answers.

Some would argue that theodicy is the greatest threat to Christianity today. After all, isn’t this one of the first questions skeptics ask?

“What’s the deal with this God of you Christians? He sure doesn’t seem to be very good, powerful, or loving. Innocent men, women, and children dying in a flood? Are we really expected to believe in a God like that?”

Honestly speaking, theodicy might be the most difficult question for Christians to answer. Why is there evil and suffering in the world? Why so much?

Maybe the best answer for us is, “We simply don’t know why.” As much as we might wish there were, perhaps there aren’t nice, neat, tidy, easy, simplistic, logical or rational answers to most of the questions of evil and suffering.

As good as all the theories of theodicy may be, remember that theodicy is the human attempt to answer questions that are essentially beyond human ability to fully understand or satisfactorily answer.

Paracletic theodicy

As God reminds us in Isaiah 55:8: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

Perhaps questions about evil and suffering are best left with God. As much as we wish we could, we will never fully understand all the ways and works of an all-good, all-powerful, all-loving and all-knowing God, especially in the fallen world in which we live.

Perhaps there’s another theodicean answer to the problem of evil and suffering to consider. It’s what I call a “paracletic theodicy.”

Paracletic is the adjective form of the Greek word parakletos (or the anglicized form, paraklete). The Greek word literally means “one called to one’s side or called to help.”

In the Gospel of John, Jesus uses the word five times in his farewell address (John 13-16) to describe the Holy Spirit’s approaching ministry to his disciples. And parakletos is certainly a fitting word for the Holy Spirit himself as the word is often translated as helper, comforter, counselor, intercessor or advocate.

In a Greek legal context, a parakletos (an advocate) was someone who would plead a case before a judge on another’s behalf.

In connecting the term to the idea of theodicy and the problem of evil and suffering, I see two relevant applications we might make in response to the Hill Country floods. This would be a paracletic theodicy.

Pray and keep on praying

What can we do when a tragedy hits? We can certainly start with prayer. And this is where the Holy Spirit’s ministry as helper, comforter, counselor and intercessor comes into play.

We can pray that the Holy Spirit will come along side of (parakletos) those with hurting and broken hearts. We can pray in the words of Romans 8:26: “The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

That’s a paracletic kind of Holy Spirit intercession. What can we do for the hopeless and hurting? We can pray and keep on praying for the families of lost loved ones and those who have lost homes, campsites, and businesses.

We can pray and keep on praying for the Holy Spirit, to keep doing his work of coming alongside of and counseling and interceding for desperate people who are now in desperate need of his comforting ministry more than ever.

We can pray and keep on praying for the parakletos to do his advocating work of “pleading their case before the righteous judge.”

We can also paraclecticly put “some feet to our prayers” by giving to one of the many excellent flood relief organizations. My Sunday school class at Park Cities Baptist Church in Dallas recently donated $3,000 to Texans on Mission, who are boots on the ground, bringing the hope of Jesus and practical help to flood survivors.

In doing so, Texans on Mission is being parakletos. In doing so, a Sunday school class is being parakletos, becoming a part of a paracletic answer to theodicy.

A response to tragedy

What about you? What can we do when a tragedy hits? We can become parakletos ourselves. We can draw alongside of the hurting and broken hearted. We can offer them our comfort along with our intercessions.

We can paracleticly counsel them if the occasion arises, but only with great care in how we do it. When people are hurting, it’s not our human attempts at eloquent, rational or logical wording that becomes most meaningful or helpful.

Our human attempts at easy answers to life’s difficult questions are rarely satisfying and can often come across as inappropriate or even hurtful. Perhaps what hurting people need the most is not our ministry of words but simply our ministry of presence, just drawing alongside of them to offer practical help and meaningful hope.

We will never get completely satisfactory answers to the question of evil and suffering, at least not in this lifetime. All theories of theodicy, including mine, are essentially inadequate in the end because they are just that, human theories about divine mysteries.

Perhaps the ultimate question to ask in times of disaster and tragedy is not why? Perhaps the better question to ask is what. What will we do for suffering survivors?

As Texas Baptists, let’s answer that question by becoming parakletos ourselves in some form or fashion. Let’s be a part of a paracletic answer to theodicy.

Jim Lemons is director of the Master of Arts in Theological Studies program and Professor of Theological Studies in The Graduate School of Ministry at Dallas Baptist University. See a related Voices article here.

Many of us live in fear.  We hide our concerns yet internally reflect, “In the event of a catastrophe, I could not survive.”

If I am divorced, if someone dies, if I lose my job, if my child is a prodigal son or daughter, if I get cancer or have a heart attack, I could not bear it. I have no reserves, no Plan B that will withstand what I fear.

Yet if we live long enough, catastrophes happen.

 Does living in fear help us deal better with trouble?

No. We can never prepare for the exact trial we will face. Worrying about everything that could happen consumes all the energy we have for a productive life. Anxiety makes every battle worse and harder.

Think of Bible figures who found themselves in trouble — in the lions’ den, the fiery furnace, the pit; a young woman pregnant and unmarried, a son crucified, a disciple exiled. Scripture is full of apparent tragedy and fatal finality God reversed to bring salvation.

God has the last word, always. His power to boomerang or reverse what humans meant for evil and use it for good has saved his people (Romans 8:28; Genesis 50:20).

As we walk with God and learn to trust him, it is helpful to consider:

God may see situations differently than we do.

How can we think like God? Impossible. Yet as we study his word, we see God act decisively to accomplish his will. His acts may be quick or “in the fullness of time” — woven through generations.

His purpose will not be thwarted (Job 42:2). The depth and riches of his knowledge are inscrutable, unfathomable (Romans 11:33). His eyes constantly roam over the earth to support fully those who are fully his (2 Chronicles 16:9). 

God works through people of his choosing.

If someone tells us they are God’s chosen, we are skeptical. In his sovereignty, God may choose the humble, less-famous person to carry his word and establish his work (1 Corinthians 1:27-29). God uses people who bring glory to him. He uses people with pure hearts who are fit vessels to carry the gospel. He uses people he can work with, people who can reach others with humility and transforming love.

On the other hand, the Bible tells us God used a foreign king like Pharoah “to save many people.” (Exodus 6:1) Notice that God’s mighty power to use Pharoah is explained by God himself.

That gives me security and hope in trusting him because I know he has perfect timing in every situation and the mighty power to act.

God does not make deals.

Christians love formulas. If we do this, God will do that.

Playing “let’s make a deal” to solve a problem is the opposite of trusting him. His ways are higher than ours, with more dimension than we can imagine. Over time and place, over people and powers, throughout the universe, he reigns, as if he has “pitched a tent for the sun” (Psalm 19). The heavens declare his glory, which no human will share.

The Bible shows us principles to follow in relationships, missions and the church. But God blesses, as the wind of the Spirit blows where it will. Walking with God, we learn what a privilege it is to experience him and be included in his work. Anything God does is wonderfully great, and to be in his service is the significance of life, the abundance of life Christ came to give us.

Worshipping him in praise and giving, through ministry like feeding the hungry, praying for the sick, accepting the stranger, washing feet, sharing the gospel. The highest tasks in the kingdom are things we can all do. Male or female, old or young, educated or not, God our Father uses everyone in his family. What a beautiful thing that is! Acts of loving service define and strengthen us, the church, and populate heaven.

Fear must never distract us from our calling.

God’s word, his very presence in Christ, is fully sufficient. He will speak to you, for you and act on your behalf. Give him your whole heart, even the paralyzing and embarrassing fear.

Ask him to reveal himself in your life, regardless of your expectations for restoration. Ask him to bring glory to himself. That is a prayer the creator answers because he loves his world.

I am a cancer survivor. God has the final say as to what my life and death will be. He leads, as I follow, for whatever days remain. That is what his lordship means as we face the future together — with more illness likely.

Catastrophic derailment for him is just another term for redemption opportunity. What equations in life that he gives us, he will solve.

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, my oncologist said: “You do not worry about this cancer. Let me worry about it!”

My job was to accept chemo and radiation and follow her lead in the treatment plan. God is like that doctor. He tells us to live, but not to worry. Leave things with him. He bears the burdens of his children. Our job description is obedience to him.

Soon I will have another surgery for a different kind of cancer.  Fear is real. I feel it, but I will not pitch a tent there and move in. That is a choice.

God’s grace, his presence and powerful help, will be enough (2 Corinthians 12:9). The thorn, the tumor even, in my flesh connects me to my healer, and teaches the lesson of being sustained by Christ in the Spirit. I pray I can stand firm and steady in the love of God until he calls my name.

Ruth Cook is a longtime Texas Baptist. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

Legends have a way of capturing our imagination. Whether it’s King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone or Prometheus stealing fire from the gods, legends often speak to our deepest longings for justice, for truth, for grace. Many legends may be built around a core of truth, but they’re usually treated as something separate from history.

Some critics argue John 7:53–8:11 is just a legend.

Though this passage isn’t found in some of the earliest biblical manuscripts, church history suggests it was indeed part of the original oral tradition.

Papias, a disciple of the Apostle John, references the account. Augustine even suggested the story was removed from some early copies because it could be misused to excuse immorality. But far from contradicting Jesus’ teachings, this scene fits perfectly with his pattern of mercy, justice and heart-piercing truth.

A trap, not a trial

Jesus is teaching at the temple when the religious leaders interrupt, dragging in a woman caught in adultery. According to Leviticus 20:10 and Deuteronomy 22:22, adultery was a capital offense requiring the execution of both the man and the woman. But the man is conspicuously absent here.

The scribes and Pharisees aren’t interested in justice. They’re interested in discrediting Jesus.

If Jesus sides with them, he violates Roman law, which reserved capital punishment for Roman authorities. If he lets her go, they can accuse him of rejecting the law of Moses. It’s a cunning trap.

Instead of engaging, Jesus stoops and writes in the dirt with his finger. That same divine finger that carved the Ten Commandments now scribbles on the temple floor.

Sin’s seriousness

As they press Jesus, he finally answers: “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.”

In one sentence, Jesus both upholds the law and exposes the hypocrisy of its enforcers. He does not minimize the sin. He doesn’t dispute her guilt. But he forces them to consider their own moral failings.

In our modern context, we often echo the Pharisees. We judge the drunkard while ignoring our own secret vices. We criticize someone’s broken family while ours teeters on the brink. We call for accountability in others while we make excuses for ourselves. Jesus’ call is not to overlook sin, but to examine our own hearts before we condemn someone else.

Grace that melts stones

Jesus stoops again to write. And one by one, the accusers leave—starting with the oldest. The word used in verse 9, “heard,” implies more than just sound. It suggests they listened, deeply, and were convicted. Something in what he wrote pierced through their defenses. The would-be executioners walked away, each recognizing their own unworthiness.

Now only Jesus and the woman remain.

He asks her: “Where are they? Has no one condemned you?”

“No one, Lord,” she replies.

And Jesus says: “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.”

It’s a breathtaking moment of grace, but it’s not license. Jesus doesn’t excuse her actions. He calls her to change. He gives her not just forgiveness, but an invitation to a transformed life.

Mercy and righteousness hand in hand

This moment illustrates the perfect balance of Jesus’ heart. He takes sin seriously, but he also lavishes grace. Sin must be confronted. But it must be confronted with the goal of restoration, not ruin. Jesus didn’t offer the woman cheap grace. He gave her costly grace, the kind that calls for repentance, renewal and a new way of life.

We often think of God as either just or merciful. In truth, he is both. His justice demands sin be paid for. His mercy offers that payment in the person of Jesus. This is the core of the gospel: sin is real, judgment is deserved, but forgiveness is freely offered.

Living the message

1. Choose forgiveness over judgment.

We all have been wronged in some way. Forgiveness doesn’t mean we condone sin, nor does it erase the pain we’ve experienced. But it does mean we release others in certain situations from the penalty we believe they owe us.

In some cases, the penalty is still due, and it’s not necessarily unforgiving to require it. Forgiving some egregious violations is not releasing from penalty, but is acknowledging the humanity in the one who has caused the harm and letting go of hate or vengeance toward that person.

Jesus told parables about this very principle. In Matthew 18, a servant forgiven of a massive debt turns around and demands repayment from someone who owes him a small amount. The king is furious. Why? Because mercy demands we show mercy in return.

If we’ve been forgiven much—and we have—then we also must forgive much.

2. Commit to righteous living.

Jesus didn’t say, “Go and sin whenever you feel like it.” He said, “Go and sin no more.”

True forgiveness leads to changed behavior. It doesn’t produce perfection overnight, but it does point us in a new direction. Living righteously is not how we earn forgiveness. It’s how we express gratitude for it. When we ignore righteous living after receiving grace, we devalue that grace.

3. Honestly evaluate your own life.

We are quick to spot the speck in our neighbor’s eye while ignoring the plank in our own. Before we pick up a stone, we need to examine our motives. Are we acting in truth and love? Or are we justifying our own superiority?

This passage in John is a challenge to religious people—those of us who think we know better. The Pharisees knew the law better than anyone. But they used it to condemn, not to restore. Jesus didn’t dismiss the law; he fulfilled it with love and truth.

4. Be a community of mercy.

Too many people have walked away from churches not because they rejected Jesus, but because they never encountered his mercy in his people. We cannot afford to be known as stone-throwers. We must be known as grace-givers. That doesn’t mean we ignore sin. We deal with it in love, pointing people to the One who forgives and transforms.

James 2:13 says: “Judgment is without mercy to one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment.” That’s not just a biblical truth. It’s a call to action.

Drop the stones

As we reflect on this powerful scene, we are left with a personal question: Are we ready to drop our stones?

Are we willing to stop condemning and start forgiving? Are we ready to let grace do its work in our lives and in the lives of others?

Take a moment. Reflect. Confess. Let go. Drop your stones—and walk forward in grace.

Benjamin Karner is senior pastor of Pine Forest Baptist Church in Vidor. The views expressed in this opinion article are those solely of the author.

I’ve been a pastor more than 30 years. I work in hospice and founded Griefbites.org.

I thought I’d seen everything when it comes to grief—until recently. A bereaved mother showed me an app where she “talks” to her deceased daughter. For $15 a month, this AI chatbot mimics her daughter’s voice, remembers their inside jokes and responds as if the girl never died.

“When I’m talking to it,” she said, “it’s like she’s still here.”

Welcome to “griefbots”—AI systems that simulate conversations with our deceased loved ones. Companies like HereAfter AI are turning grief into a subscription service, promising digital resurrection for the price of a Netflix membership.

As Baptist Standard readers wrestle with technology’s role in faith and life, we need to examine this troubling trend through biblical eyes.

The technology behind digital ‘resurrection’

These aren’t simple recordings or chatbots. Using the same AI technology as ChatGPT, companies collect a deceased person’s texts, emails, social media posts and family questionnaires to create sophisticated digital personalities. The AI generates new responses that sound authentically like the deceased person, even discussing events after their death.

Most disturbing? Cambridge University researchers discovered these companies A/B test different personality versions to maximize “user engagement”—essentially optimizing the digital dead for subscription retention.

Digital golden calves

This reminds me of Exodus 32, when the Israelites created the golden calf. They weren’t trying to worship a different god. They wanted a manageable, controllable version of the divine that provided immediate comfort. The calf reflected their desires, not God’s reality.

Griefbots function similarly as digital totems. They don’t preserve who our loved ones actually were—complex, flawed humans with difficult moments. Instead, they create idealized versions that tell us what we want to hear. The cranky grandfather becomes perpetually wise. The distant parent finally offers constant affirmation. The troubled teenager is forever at peace.

This isn’t memory; it’s fantasy. And while comforting short-term, it prevents the hard work of accepting our loved ones as they truly were, complications and all.

The danger to children

If this technology concerns me for adults, it terrifies me regarding children. MIT researcher Sherry Turkle found kids readily develop deep emotional attachments to AI companions, seeing them as “alive enough” to warrant genuine care.

How do we teach resurrection hope to a 6-year-old who can pull up grandma on an iPad anytime? How do we explain that “to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord” when technology offers immediate artificial presence?

Children need to learn faith that can wrestle with life’s mysteries, not technological bypasses around spiritual development.

Monetizing grief

These companies profit from our deepest pain, turning mourning into market opportunity. The subscription model creates perverse incentives. They make money when users stay stuck in grief rather than processing loss healthily.

Traditional pastoral care aims to help people find integrated grief where loss becomes part of life’s story without dominating it. But griefbot companies succeed financially when customers remain emotionally dependent on digital simulations.

What Scripture teaches about grief

The Bible offers a different path. Jesus wept at Lazarus’ tomb, even knowing he would raise him (John 11:35). The Psalms contain raw lament. Ecclesiastes reminds us there’s “a time to mourn” (3:4).

Scripture presents grief as serving divine purposes: honoring relationships, driving us toward God’s comfort, creating empathy and pointing toward resurrection hope. Technology that short-circuits this process interferes with spiritual formation.

Paul calls death “the last enemy” (1 Corinthians 15:26)—real, final, devastating, yet ultimately defeated through Christ. Griefbots offer a technological bypass around death’s finality, promising continued relationship without resurrection, presence without the parousia.

A better way forward

Rather than embracing sophisticated digital idolatry, churches must offer authentic alternatives:

• Comprehensive bereavement ministry extending beyond the funeral.
• Intergenerational storytelling that preserves memory naturally.
• Community-based grief support replacing isolated digital interaction.
• Memorial practices that honor the dead without claiming ongoing conversation.

The deepest human longings can’t be satisfied by even the most sophisticated technology. They can be met only by the God who knows what it means to lose someone you love and promises one day, every tear will be wiped away.

We don’t grieve as those without hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13), but neither do we pretend death isn’t real. True resurrection hope acknowledges loss while trusting God’s ultimate victory—not through artificial simulation, but through genuine reunion in his eternal kingdom.

In a culture increasingly willing to substitute digital simulation for spiritual reality, Christian communities must become more skilled at walking through the valley of the shadow of death with authentic hope, not technological totems.

The stakes couldn’t be higher. At the end of the day, grieving hearts need the comfort of the Holy Spirit, authentic community support and genuine resurrection hope—irreplaceable gifts no algorithm can provide.

Bobby Bressman has served as a pastor for more than 35 years, works in hospice leadership and founded Griefbites.org. He has walked with hundreds of families through loss and regularly speaks and writes about faith, grief renewal and church revitalization. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

As I packed up my office after 20 years of work in English-as-a-Second-Language, I couldn’t help remembering the many immigrant children I have known and served.

Decades ago when I began working, we taught students from Korea, China, Japan, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Pakistan, Jordan, Iraq and Afghanistan. But in the past few years, most students came from Mexico, Venezuela, other places in Latin America and a few from India.

We never have asked if a student was documented, but we have taught them all with the same commitment and procedures.

Challenges of new beginnings

First thing every year, we labeled the door to our classroom as “ESL”—English-as-a-Second-Language—so students could find their home base in the school. We had a poster stating, “EVERYONE is welcome!” And we permitted no bullying or racial discrimination, which occasionally surfaced in the classroom.

Students were assigned to share about their homes and communities in their home country. Many had left behind grandparents and cousins they may never see again. We realized many students began their new life in the United States with great loss and fear, especially if they had fled war or threatening gangs.

A couple of students said they witnessed murder. One boy had walked across a vast desert to catch a boat to the Caribbean islands. Students said they entered the country with a parent, older sibling, or aunt or uncle and in cars and buses or on planes. Often, they traveled to several countries before entering the United States.

It is usual for us to provide backpacks and school supplies for our students. When parents and guardians do not speak English, it is almost impossible to communicate a school supply list.

Most students receive free lunch and are assigned a bus to ride to and from school. Very few immigrant families have two cars. Often, mom is home with younger siblings, depending on bus rides for her older children.

Living in a big city like Irving is a challenge when mastering a school bus route, learning one’s apartment address, how to cross busy streets, and handle American money—all the things that are part of feeling safe in a giant Metroplex. English-as-a-Second-Language teachers are used to worrying if a new student would get home smoothly the first few days of enrollment.

Differences and similarities

Cultural differences, as well as foreign languages, are assumed among immigrant children.

Students may find our American lunches of burgers and pizza unappealing and prefer food brought from home. One Japanese boy brought his lunch of rice and dried fish every day wrapped in silk. Teasing a child about his food is a sad but typical occurrence, and we focus on acceptance and diversity.

Clothes for immigrant children can be unique as well. Clothes may be made from fabric woven in another part of the world, and girls may wear pants under dresses or headwraps for modesty and religion. However, most students wear American fashion, team jerseys and international designer clothes like one would find in an airport. Students from large cities know American styles.

Children all over the world are unique individuals. Some are painfully shy. I have had some with panic disorder and psychosomatic illnesses. Stress is very real.

Other students act out, speaking and yelling too loudly in class, using bad language in their native tongue and in English. Some are influenced by having seen violence and possibly sex workers in their personal history. Much depends on prior learning, developmental skills like self-control, diligence, and determination that come from experiences in childhood and the family.

Religion and diversity

Some families are strong and close. Other families have been split apart. Some are religious, often Catholic or Muslim, but many children new to the United States do not know the meaning of “God” or “church.”

Public schools teach Christianity as a world religion along with Buddhism, Judaism, Islam and Hinduism. Often, immigrant children show no recognition of any of these groups and are unaware of churches in the United States.

But you never know. We once had the immigrant son of a fundamentalist missionary from Latin America who told teachers every class period we were “unbiblical” and going to hell. Immigrants reflect the world and every kind of thinking.

When students make friends with other races of people in school, we feel successful as teachers.

However, people who speak the same native language, like the same music and entertainment, and have the same mores congregate together. They create their own group norms and rules, to the extent it can be difficult to influence the group in school. I think this leads to many of the present discipline problems we have in schools. Schools need administrators from all people groups.

Strengths of immigration

Legal immigration always will be with us, and it should be.

Immigration has its obstacles, yet the rewards of living in the United States are tremendous and will be more fully realized by students as they get older.

Being bilingual in the United States will be a strong advantage for today’s students. Learning English is a difficult task that develops and sharpens cognitive skills. Acclimating to another culture demands personal flexibility. These are benefits to the immigrant student.

Public schools are needed to meet the needs of immigrant students and families. Public schools serve people who cannot pay private tuition and may need remedial education. The need for quality, free, public education in our country is a deep need that cuts to the heart of all we stand for and will build us into what we become.

Our Christian responsibility

Christians must lead the way in uniting the people of the world in the pursuit of excellence in learning and productivity. We must teach and model democracy, justice and religious freedom. Most important, we can love and accept one another.

Schools are a miniature society. We teach children how to respect each other, even while we grow and achieve together. We have all the problems and victories of a large family.

This is not the time to lessen our commitment to public school or the children who will stand at its door in August. Children will arrive at our doors fearful, with no supplies, looking for lunch and a ride home. They will come seeking friends and parental figures. They come to find out who they are and what their future will be.

What will we have waiting for them?

Ruth Cook is a longtime Texas Baptist. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

I love Baylor University like I love a member of my own family. And this week, it felt like a family member got a DUI and hurt someone. You don’t stop loving them—but the pain is real, and the failure has to be named.

When I talk to people about Baylor, I often say it’s one of the only truly Christian universities that doesn’t lead with fear or rigidity. It’s not like most Bible colleges where everything is a rule, and every rule is a dare. When something is off limits, young people will run straight at it.

But at Baylor, faith isn’t enforced through shame. It’s lived out in a culture of trust, curiosity and grace. And what I’ve always loved is that Baylor never seemed afraid of science.

You could wrestle with the evidence around evolution and other scientific questions, and it didn’t have to threaten your faith. That integration—faith and intellect, belief and exploration—is what made Baylor special to me.

That’s why the recent decision to rescind a research grant from the Baugh Foundation to the Diana Garland School of Social Work hit so hard. This grant was intended to fund research into how religious communities—often unknowingly—have contributed to mental health struggles among LGBTQ+ individuals and how churches can play a role in healing rather than harming.

It wasn’t some progressive campaign. It was pastoral. It was humble. It was meant to help.

Love above all

Years ago, I was at the Sundance Film Festival guest teaching a film class with Fuller Theological Seminary. One evening, I found myself in a packed Sundance theater watching For the Bible Tells Me So, a documentary about LGBTQ+ individuals and their families—many of them deeply rooted in Christian traditions.

The director was there. So were several of the families featured in the film. We watched it all together. And we wept together.

The stories in that film were devastating. Again and again, we heard from people who had been told by their churches and their parents, “If you’re going to be gay, you’re dead to us.”

Families cut them off. Churches exiled them. They were written out of the lives of the people who once claimed to love them most. And that is the ultimate form of harm. It’s captured in one father’s desperate prayer from the film, “God, please don’t let my son grow up to be a faggot.”

That kind of hatred and fear lived in the hearts of many churches—including churches I’ve pastored, and likely many represented by those who signed the letter to rescind this grant. I don’t say that to assign blame, but to acknowledge the reality that we’ve all ministered among people carrying wounds from misguided beliefs. Some endured conversion therapy. Others were excluded. Most have at least one family member who was harmed. The damage is real, and it’s still with us. Which is why this kind of research doesn’t threaten us—it helps us. It tells the truth so that we can love better.

So why oppose a research project aimed at healing? Why not ask: “What do we need to learn so that we never do that again?”

If you know that harm has been done in your own church, then research designed to help you love better is not a threat. It’s a gift.

No matter where you land theologically, we have to acknowledge this truth: When exclusion leads to despair, when it pushes people into isolation and shame, we have failed in our primary calling, which is to love.

Courage to love and grow

The kind of research that was being funded by the Baugh Foundation was aimed at addressing that failure with humility and grace.

It asked: “How can we do better?”

That’s not a threat to faith. It’s a reflection of it.

I want to believe Baylor can do better. I believe our university has the capacity to model a way forward that holds both faith and compassion, biblical conviction and scientific insight.

But it will take courage, especially in a political and cultural climate where fear and outrage too often lead the conversation.

To the pastors and leaders who signed the letter opposing this research, I invite you, respectfully, to watch For the Bible Tells Me So. Sit with those stories. Ask yourself if our role as spiritual leaders is to build walls or to open doors.

You don’t have to change your theology to care deeply about people. But if we claim to follow Jesus, we are called to love and love requires listening, humility and a willingness to grow.

To President Linda Livingstone, I still believe in your leadership and your heart for this university. You have the opportunity to help Baylor reflect the best of its mission—informed by faith, guided by truth and committed to human dignity.

It’s not too late to right this wrong. It’s not too late to show the world that Baylor is a place where hard questions are not feared but embraced in the light of grace.

This moment is about more than a grant. It’s about who we are becoming. I’m grieving, but I’m not giving up. There’s too much at stake.

Chris Seay is the lead pastor of Ecclesia Houston. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The 11th paragraph was edited after the article initially was posted.